It is another hot, humid day here on the Hill. Trees are standing like soldiers on review, branches listless in the still air. Great haying weather, if one doesn’t melt. After work, the husband will take the boys and travel to High Street in West Paris, where he has agreed to hay a field for someone.
The only air conditioning is the screen door and one gets a brief wave of relief when one of the kids runs in or out, banging the door as he goes…followed by a too-late “Don’t slam the door” warning from me.
The Cushman bakery truck was here earlier and that broke up the day a little. The raspbery tarts are a must and Vance Bacon is the driver now. He is more than patient as the kids decide what the treat of the week will be. You may have surmised that very little traffic is directed up the hill to the farm.
Last week, Francis Brooks came with his array of salt and pepper shakers, gifts of all kinds and even cooking spices. Mark, my nephew stays with us during the day in the summer. He wandered over to the table and looked at all the display Francis had laid before our eyes. He whispered he would like to buy a set of salt and peppers for his Mom. Hmm, I thought, what a thoughtful little fellow! They were a dollar for the set so I told him to pick out what he thought his Mom would like. Took him no time at all. He chose two little mice and yes, they were very cute. I paid and put them in a bag for Mark to take home that evening. After Francis left, I told Mark how thoughtful he was to think of his Mom and asked if she would like the set he chose. I have never seen such a devilish grin in my life before or since…”Oh yeah,” he exclaimed, “she is scared to death of mice.” What to do! I shook my head and when his Dad came to pick him up, he climbed into the truck, clutching his precious purchase in his hand. I have no idea what happened that night when he presented his gift, but fifty years later his Mom and I still laugh about her son’s thoughtfulness.
I spent another morning raking up the hay leavings in the lower field. I try to do it as soon as the dew is off and before the heat of the day sets in. I was disappointed in the field strawberries this year. Usually, up on top the pasture hill, there is a great patch and many a time I’ve spent on my knees patiently filling a little pail. Not so many this year and folks say it is the dry weather. Maybe so. Takes forever and then to hull them..one wonders if it is worth it as they are so tiny, but you will never get the sweetness from a cultivated berry that you do with the tiny field berries.
In a few months it will be butchering time again. This isn’t one of my favorite times of year and we pretty much shield the whole procedure from the kids. I can’t say I am sorry to see the pig leave. He is nothing but trouble, getting out all the time, no matter how secure his pen. Pounding on his feed pail with a stick does not do the trick. One got out and climbed all over Christopher Mountain before my kids organized a pig hunting party, to which their father joined after work. Right before nightfall, the pig was put back in its pen with someone holding him by his hind legs and the pig squealing so loud one would think it was dying right then and there.
A lot of kids ride up to the farm on their bikes from the village. I took a picture one day of ten bikes parked out front. It’s a good thing I have a big pitcher with a smiley face on it and plenty of Kool-Aid. By the afternoon, everyone has a mustache of one color or another as I keep replenishing the cups. The kids entertain themselves and usually its a ball game in the lower field now the hay is cut.
This summer has been a long one, it seems. Farm work is never done..if you hay, have a garden etc. The kids are in no hurry to go back to school. They find something to do every day from walking the fields, to playing with their trucks, music, reading, digging in old dump sites. Of course we have our casualties. I estimate at least one kid will have stitches from one cut or another during the season. I guess that goes with this kind of life. The doctors know me well now and if they see a car with tires blowing smoke turning into their parking lot, I swear they just dig out the needle and thread.
Only once did Ma come to the rescue. I mean, only once did I ask her. She rescued me several times. Debbie was four years old and riding a tricycle at a neighbor’s home when a dog bit her eye brow almost off. She did not do a thing to the dog, so the owner said, but apparently it was not a good day for the dog. I was working and Ma took her to Dr. Nangle , who sewed her eyebrow back on…and I am betting now people know why she has worn bangs most of her life!
Oh, so many accidents during those summer months while growing up. But, you know, I would not trade the farm for any where else in the world to raise kids…they have fields to run, kites to fly, trucks to haul in the dirt pile, trees to climb…
Dirt to get on everything, trees to fall from, stone walls to land on…life gets so exciting sometimes here on the hill.
Time for me to see if I can open one of these old windows and let the air conditioning in a bit more~~